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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717488">The Hardest Part</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p'>victoria_p (musesfool)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>tumblr prompt fic [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Natasha in the Soul Stone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:48:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha knows how to wait.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>tumblr prompt fic [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/265153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Hardest Part</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for dw user=kore for the January Journal meme. Title from Tom Petty.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha knows how to wait, how to bide her time, to pick the opportune moment to strike. Like the spider she's named for, she sits still in the middle of the web she's woven, listening for the faint vibrations of prey ready for the taking. Her skill set is wide and varied, but she's always at her best when gathering intel, and she'll need as much as she can get to escape this place. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be anyone else here with her, which seems wrong. She wasn't the only person sacrificed to the Soul stone, so she shouldn't be the only one in the weird limbo that sacrifice created. As afterlifes go, it's better than the eternal torment she'd once expected, but not as welcome as the eternal peace she'd hoped to achieve.</p>
<p>She scouts as much of the place as she can, building landmarks with river stones once she realizes she's moving in circles, her usually impeccable sense of direction stymied by this featureless landscape. </p>
<p>She makes plans and discards them—she meant her sacrifice when she made it, and she doesn't want to take it back, but she also thought she'd be dead at the end of it, not...whatever this is. She's never not been able to escape when she put her mind to it, and she's got nothing else to do now.</p>
<p>Natasha doesn't scorn rescue—she knows her limits and knows when to accept, or even ask, for help (unlike some people she knows)—but she finds it best to rescue herself, or to put herself in position to be rescued, should one be underway.</p>
<p>It's harder here, where the horizon stretches flat and monotonous as far as the eye can see, where no matter how high she ascends the cliff she dove off to acquire the soul stone, she wakes in the water beneath it. She's not sure what the reset point is—time doesn't seem to pass here, and there's no sun or stars visible in the gray-red sky. One minute she's climbing and the next she's waking; at least she doesn't have to endlessly replay the long moment of her fall.</p>
<p>She scratches tickmarks in the cliff face, though she can't be sure she's keeping track of anything meaningful. There are lightning storms sometimes, far above, and occasionally a wild wind whips through, pulling her hair from its untidy braid. The wind smells cold and sere, and reminds her of her childhood, even though there's no snow and no blood. She doesn't need to eat or drink, and she expects to feel the effects of that, but she doesn't feel weaker. If anything, she's sharper, more focused, more quintessentially herself—the only real thing in this place where nothing else seems to exist.</p>
<p>She wakes after another one of those resets, lightning cracking across the sky, and then the storm disappears. The sky is a smooth gray mirror of the ground, a large bank of clouds in the distance mimicking the cliff she keeps trying to climb. She's not one for metaphors but she can't help but feel like the universe is trying to tell her something.</p>
<p>Natasha sighs and sets her shoulders, ready to start the next round of reconnaissance, and wonders if she's wasting her time. She whistles a jaunty tune she remembers Sam playing a lot during their time on the run. She wonders if they won, if Sam has returned, if Steve's finally able to move forward after getting everyone back. If Clint is on the farm, and Laura's in the kitchen, and the kids are running wild as if they'd never been gone at all.</p>
<p>She has to believe it worked, that her sacrifice wasn't in vain, and the world was set to rights.</p>
<p>She rebraids her hair and gazes into the distance, calculating how far she can make it this time before everything resets and she wakes up back here again.</p>
<p>At first she thinks her eyes are tricking her. She squints and keeps her breathing steady, and takes in as much detail as she can at this distance. Because there's another person here, slim, human-looking, with long red hair fluttering in the wind.</p>
<p>She has a destination now, and possibly a partner. Someone to talk to, at least. She doesn't need anything else. </p>
<p>She starts walking.</p>
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